The Axeboy's Blues (The Agents Of Book 1)

by Andy Reynolds

  “Wait here,” said Nemu, turning away from him and walking through a door. Julius could hear hushed speaking behind the door – at least six people were on the other side.

  The door opened and Nimble walked through, smiling. He was almost always smiling, but the smile was merely a memorized movement, a mask to make people uncomfortable. Dark skinned with hair braided into canerows, the Caribbean man wore a dark button-up with a blue and green pin-stripe vest, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A short branch of lavender protruded from the upper pocket of his vest. Nemu followed behind him and stood near his side. She had nine visible blades on her.

  Nimble lifted his arms up as if to hug Julius, but didn't actually touch him. “Bes. Julius. So glad you stopped by.” He motioned to Julius' leg and cane. “If I'd known of your state, I would have met you upstairs.”

  “It's no bother,” said Julius, well aware that Nimble knew of Julius' 'state'. A good part of Nimble's business was the gathering of information. Julius tapped his false leg with the cane. “Just something to get used to.”

  Nimble smiled even larger but his eyes were fire. “Always the survivor,” he whispered.

  “I do what I can.”

  The door behind Nimble opened and a young man with unkempt hair walked into the room. His clothes were old and torn up, and Julius could see the strain of an ex-drug addict in the man's eyes and gait.

  Nimble squinted his eyes and sung melodically, “Eric, you're not invited to this meeting. Please go away.”

  The young man walked up to the three of them, looked at Julius and then looked at Nimble, who's eyes flicked up to meet the young man's. Their eyes were locked for a moment, and then Nimble sighed. He held out his hand and Nemu unbuttoned a long dagger-like blade and sheath from her belt and placed it into Nimble's hand, which closed around the sheath like a talon. “Pull the blade out of the sheath,” he said to Eric.

  Eric slowly wrapped his hand around the handle and pulled the blade out. The blade reflected the red from the walls around them as if it had blood mixed into the metal.

  Julius had already gauged the man's skill by the way he walked into the room – he could take the young man down easily, hopefully without killing him. But with Julius being crippled, Nimble or Nemu would have a very good shot at taking him down, and if they teamed up Julius would have to be very lucky to survive. And then there were all of the others gathered behind the door.

  Julius had known when he stepped into this gambling den that what he was gambling with was his life. But no one here knew that he only had one life with which to bet. “Is this necessary?” he said.

  “I hope not,” Nimble quietly sang. “You see, Eric here seems to think that killing you will bring him some semblance of glory.”

  “I can't imagine where he got such a misguided idea.”

  Nimble chuckled. “Who knows where youngsters get their ideas these days.” Then to Eric, he said, “You know how I feel about getting blood on my floor. But if you really feel that you must kill Julius, here he is. Right in front of you, with pieces of him missing even. So many never get this chance.”

  The young man's eyes met Julius' as he took a step back, feeling the weight of the blade in his hand. “Why are you talking to him? We can take him out.”

  “I presume you're speaking in the 'royal' we,” said Nimble. “I don't wish my friend here any harm. But you are also my friend, Eric, so I feel that I cannot intervene.”

  The young man straightened his back and braced himself, and Julius bowed his head and met the young man's eyes. Julius felt his chest and ribs vibrate with the roar that wanted to crawl up the center of his body and out his throat. I'm not going to shift, I'm not going to shift. He brought the godly animal inside of him so very close to the surface, close enough for the human hairs on his neck and arms to raise, for his body to eject predatory pheromones into the air.

  Eric held his ground for a moment and Julius really thought he would go for it. But then the knife lowered to the man's side and his eyes and arms began to quiver.

  “Fear overcoming stupidity,” said Nimble.

  The boy took a step back, then held out the knife to hand it back to Nimble. In Eric's eyes Julius could see a battle – the terror of staying close to Julius versus the terror of leaving without giving the blade back to Nimble.

  “Oh no, dear boy,” said Nimble, shaking his head. “What you are holding there is an Assassin's Blade. A Killing Blade. When it is held with the intent to kill, it latches onto the would-be killer until it is used to end someone's life. In an hour or two, if you've failed to satiate it, it will begin to poison you. You've whet it's appetite, and within a day it will lick at the shores of death, whether that death is yours or somebody else's.”

  “Mr. Nimble,” said Eric. He looked at Nemu, who of course only looked serenely asleep, and then tried using his other hand to pull the handle from his fist, but his fist would not open.

  “It is a very big day for you, Eric,” said Nimble. “Should you survive, you will have learned three very crucial lessons.” He handed the blade's sheath to Eric. “Now go out into the world, and see if you can't come back and tell me all about what you learn.”

  The young man looked from Nimble to Julius, then turned and stumbled across the room, pushing his way through the door. “Out of my way!” he yelled at the others (of which Julius counted eight), all of them jumping back from him and the blade.

  Then the door closed and it was just the three of them.

  Nimble looked at the ceiling, as if searching his mind for something. “There isn't any music. That's what is missing.” He walked over and pulled a record from one of the shelves, then opened the top of a vintage record player and dropped the needle into the groove. The sounds of a symphony began playing, almost immediately joined by a woman's voice singing opera. Julius was sure he could search through his past lives' memories and figure out what opera it was, maybe even who was performing it, but greater matters were at hand.

  Nimble turned to Julius and opened his arms. “Now, what brings you to my den, old friend? It was good to hear that you survived that horrid swamp affair. People like you and I, we can't ever be completely certain about the friends we keep, can we? You had The Sisters[21] and I worried sick. Whatever would the city do without it's Agents, especially in such chaotic times as these?”

  “What I'm here for I could have gotten anywhere. I need permits to block off a street or two in The CBD. I'll need the permits blank, because I won't know the exact streets until tomorrow or later today. The reason is a movie shoot.”

  “I'm sure. And I'm sure by 'movie shoot' you mean covering up and containing the time skips that have been plaguing the area for the last several hours.”

  Julius didn't answer, and Nimble turned to Nemu. “Have one of the boys fix up a permit for the... Agents of Fateful Encounters.”

  She turned and walked out of the room.

  “A movie shoot?” said Nimble. “Isn't the time skip to the thirties or forties? Is it a period movie?”

  Julius nodded.

  Nimble burst out laughing, nearly doubling over in his over-dramatic way, though the laugh still sounded utterly fake. “Brilliant!” Hee smoothed out his vest and straightened up. Then an eyebrow raised and his smile faded. “You didn't come up with that.”

  “No.”

  “You've got that human part hanging around, but don't use it much. No, no. And neither did Roman Wing – he's clever, but in that can't-order-a-cup-of-coffee kind of way.”

  Julius shook his head. “One of the new members of my team came up with it.” He made sure not to overemphasize the 's' at the end of 'members' – while also making sure that the 's' was indeed there. “And we are no longer The Agents of Fateful Encounters.”

  “Ah?” Nimble gestured to the room and the record player. “You've got the dramatic opera playing. What better background music for telling me what you've christened the current evolution of The Holy Knights of Bes?”

 
; “We're The Agents Of.”

  “Oh.” Nimble gave the slightest shrug. “Can't say it's got the usual flare I'm used to your names having.”

  “Perhaps flare is too distracting.”

  Nimble smirked. “Indeed. And what else can I do for you, Bes?”

  Julius shook his head. “Nothing. I hope I didn't take up too much of your time.”

  “Never. My house is always open to you.”

  “And I am grateful for that. I figured, like you said, that you and The Sisters were worried about my health and state of being, so I wanted to drop by and show you that I am in both good health and spirits. And being the governing forces of of New Orleans that you are, I wanted to assure the three of you that The Agents Of are at your beck and call, as we are at the beck and call of the whole of the city.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt.” Nimble wrinkled his nose. “Governing forces, huh? Well, The Sisters and I are sure to call you in times of need. Then we'll await your arrival like princesses on an ivy-drenched balcony until you ride up on your mule-drawn carriage, along with your Agents in training.” He drew out those last words, letting them hang in the air a moment.

  Nemu walked in, and Julius saw in the shadows behind her others just waiting for Nimble to call on them. Good. She handed Nimble a large manilla envelope, which Nimble in turn handed over to Julius.

  “If that is all, Nemu will see you out.” He was no longer trying to make his smile look real, and Julius could smell murder on him like cologne.

  Julius nodded and walked towards the stairs, then stopped and turned to face Nimble. “And don't you or The Sisters worry about the swamp incident. The perpetrators will be found.”

  “Oh? I thought that crazy ex-Agent of yours was killed in the swamp.”

  “Rachel may have just been a bullet. I've got some ideas about who else was involved.”

  “I'm sure you will find them, and I'm sure you'll tear them apart, even with your...” his eyes flicked over Julius' body, “...physical inconsistencies.”

  “No.” Julius shook his head. “I think I'm done with flare. There are lost corners of this city that even the oldest entities don't know exist. People, creatures, even entities...” he shrugged, “...they just disappear from time to time.”

  The lighting in the room flickered, and Nimble bowed his head. “Do keep The Sisters and I informed. And let us know if we can be of any assistance. We would just die to help you.”

  “I will.” Julius turned and made his way slowly up the spiral staircase.

  File 30 :: [The Angel of Death]

  The heat of the life forms below her bellowed up, pressing against her chest and dark wings to lift her further towards the clouds. The city – a messy grid, a crosshatching of life and death with the long curved streak of the Mississippi clawed through the middle of it. The sun's heat mixed with the wind, corkscrewed down and pushed her back down towards the city.

  She lowered towards The French Quarter and the neon-infused artery called Bourbon which ran through its center. The Angel pulled in her wings and fell faster, letting the living world and the first three ghostly worlds fall away from her like broken shells. Her wings unfurled and slowed her descent just before she landed in her high heeled shoes in the middle of the street in the Tartarus Realm.

  “I am very busy, Aleix,” she said, pushing her black skirt down to straighten it.

  “I know.” The unkempt bartender turned and led her into Aleix's Coffee Shop. “This is important.”

  She walked in and saw the large ghost-man slumped on the floor. There was another man sitting at a table with a half-played chess game sprawled across the top of it, his head in his hands and a guitar case at his feet. The man on the floor moaned.

  “You brought me in for this?” She pulled a cigarette from a silver case and lit it. “I'm not a damned cop, Aleix. Call the ghost police, if they'll even come here.”

  “It was a ghost-kid... Or something – I don't know what it was. He had a silver axe and got all holier-than-thou when Burt here told him not to make light of The Axeman murders. He fucked Burt up, then grabbed this other guy's friend and shifted out of the realm. Never seen anything like it, except for when you do that.”

  The Angel looked at the man sitting by the chess game. “Your friend was a musician too?”

  “Yeah,” the man said, afraid to meet her gaze. “He... he plays the trumpet.”

  She nodded and made for the door. “Thank you for telling me this, Aleix. It will be dealt with.”

  “Miss?” said Aleix.

  She spun around and Aleix cowered a little where he stood.

  “If I may be so forward,” he said, “maybe you could help Burt out? I mean, if you're able. I'm not even sure what happened to him.”

  She sighed, walked over to the huge man and crouched down. Her eyes peered into the lines of light which ran up and down his body. One of the core emotional casings that kept him linked to the world, that kept him from moving on to the next life, had been crushed. She reached into his torso and reshaped it a little. He'd probably never be quite as strong as he was before. He'd also most likely move on to the next life a little sooner than he otherwise would have.

  Burt's body relaxed and he took a series of deep breaths. “Thank you! Thank you thank you!”

  The Angel stood up, taking a drag of her cigarette. “The next time you get beat up by a thirteen-year-old boy, I won't be around to drag you back to this world.”

  The man's face dropped and he nodded.

  She looked up at Aleix, nodded to him and then walked out the door and took to the sky.

  File 31 :: [Edith Downs]

  It was late afternoon when Edith and Adelaide set out towards Bourbon Street, Edith filling her in on some of the city's recent history on their way. Bourbon, Royal and Frenchmen Streets, Edith figured, were the three places where they'd be able to find the most live jazz music in relatively small areas.

  “What happened to this place?” asked Adelaide. “So many lights and scribbled writing. And it smells like alcohol and urine.”

  “Yep,” said Edith. “This is Bourbon Street. Locals don't really come here that often unless they work here. But tourists come here from all over the country to get as drunk as they can.”

  “Please tell me the whole Quarter doesn't look like this...”

  “No, just a little more than half of Bourbon. The rest is gorgeous.”

  “Good.”

  They passed some of the strip clubs, with pictures of near-naked women plastered all over the windows.

  “Oh, it's Storyville[22],” said Adelaide. “They reopened Storyville on Bourbon Street.”

  “Well, not exactly, but it probably has some similarities.”

  As they continued on, every so often Adelaide would put a hand on Edith's shoulder to stop her from talking, and it looked like Adelaide was listening to something in her head. She explained to Edith about how she could hear the past and present of sound, and about how she could manipulate sound. Adelaide was listening to check for the sound of trumpets that emanates from The Axeboy. She said that the music comes from the ghosts of the trumpet players he'd killed.

  “Why is he killing trumpet players?” asked Edith.

  “Yes, it's time for that story. Maybe we could get off this street, though. What was the other street, the one that will have music later?”

  “Frenchman. It's much nicer. And we can take Royal to get there, where there'll be at least a few bands set up and playing on the street.”

  “Lets head that way.”

  They veered off Bourbon and then walked down Royal Street, past all the art galleries and antique shops. The street was blocked off during the day as a pedestrian mall, and they began to pass musicians and street performers as they walked. “Have you ever heard of The Axeman?”

  “It sounds familiar,” said Edith. “But I'm not sure where I heard it.”

  “The man who became known as The Axeman was born human some time around 1889, so I've hea
rd, but then as a young man fell in love with The Angel of Death, who in turn fell in love with him. She took him into the worlds of the dead with her. The instability of those worlds are far too much for a living person to deal with over long periods of time – especially the farther realms. Being there for so long twisted his mind, and his exposure to the forces of those realms instilled in him some unique abilities.

  “The Angel of Death realized what had happened and brought him back to the world of the living, but it was too late. His obsession for her grew, and when she would not take him back he became a nightmare to the city. Using the chisel which is now in my bag, he would chisel out the panel of a back door to a house, slip inside and take an axe from the house and brutally murder at least one of the occupants. It was a sort of love letter to The Angel.”

  “That's horrible...”

  “He scribbled strange notes and riddles onto sidewalks and on the walls near where the murders happened. One of the abilities he had was to wrap the essence of the ghostly worlds around himself, so that if he was seen at all he was described as a long, thin shadow which made no noise as it ran. It took The Agents of Karma nearly a decade to take him down.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “That was before I joined, actually. I knew of The Axeman, of course - the whole city did. I was brought into The Agents of Karma to replace those killed by him. That was in 1920. They were uncertain if The Axeman could even be killed. So Roman and the Agents teamed up with The Angel of Death – they lured him deep into the realms of the dead, where Roman used one of his devices to make a ghost-image of The Angel of Death, to make it appear that she was flying towards Oblivion. The Axeman desperately tried to save her and was pulled into Oblivion himself.

  “So he's not dead then?”

  “We're not sure. No one really knows what happens when a ghost enters Oblivion, let alone a living person or something in between like The Axeman.”

  Edith shivered as chills ran down her arms. They began zig-zagging through the lower Quarter towards the corner of Esplanade and Decatur, where they would cross over towards Frenchman.